chavismo

The trajectory of the political transition that many Venezuelans await since January 3 seems to have been clarifying over the past few weeks. The first expected milestone is the reform of the Supreme Court of Justice, although it remains to be seen how many of the new magistrates will be independent and how many tied to factions of the chavista elite. The expectation is that, before the end of the year, the agenda will include a new board of rectors for the CNE and the long-awaited electoral calendar. In Panama, María Corina Machado had opened to negotiating these matters directly with Delcy Rodríguez, but the United States decided to manage the institutional opening through a small group of opposition figures, former lawmakers from Primero Justicia and Voluntad Popular in the 2015 National Assembly. The discomfort of Machado and her inner circle with this decision is no secret. The opposition leader has stated that she does not intend to stand in the way. Individuals linked to her team and party have raised doubts about the negotiation’s initial legitimacy and early progress, while other longtime opposition figures have welcomed the recent releases of political prisoners and the roadmap the US has outlined.

At Caracas Chronicles, we sat down to talk with Guillermo Aveledo Coll, a political scientist, expert in Venezuelan political history, and researcher of the ideas that have shaped its parties and conflicts. Aveledo views the unfolding dialogue favorably. He believes general elections must take place in Venezuela as soon as possible, though not without first tying up loose ends related to the broad recognition of any electoral process and the stability of future governments. He also discussed the dynamics that could emerge among political parties amid a transition, both within the anti-chavista camp and inside the chavista movement. Much like Marco Rubio in January, he made reference to the Spanish Transition. Finally, he reflected on our last transition to democracy (1958–1968) and how Rómulo Betancourt and Acción Democrática adapted to move forward in the face of adversity.

Recently, María Corina Machado used a term typical in transition frameworks. She said that the transition to democracy cannot be an elite pact made behind the people’s backs and without a popular mandate. Does the agenda unfolding between a commission of the Delcy government and the Delegated Commission of the old 2015 National Assembly fall into the category of an elite pact? You have been a defender of the legacy of the Puntofijo Pact. Is an elite pact problematic in these particular circumstances?

What we are seeing, which points embryonically toward an elite agreement, will have to be filtered through the will of the population, because the ultimate source of legitimacy in a democratic republic passes through it. The Puntofijo Pact was a concrete agreement on political rules among parties. However, had those parties lacked inherent legitimacy and a firm foothold, those rules might have overwhelmed them. In those elections, an independent candidate backed by one of the historic parties, Rear Admiral Wolfgang Larrazábal, obtained a very high percentage of the vote and came in second. So it could very well have been something that surpassed them, that swallowed them up.

Venezuela will need elections. It also needs the freedoms and guarantees for those elections to take place. Not because winning them without those guarantees is impossible, but because the opposition’s victories haven’t been recognized without them, while a government win leaves reasonable doubts regarding legitimacy. And if a fundamental actor in that social recognition, María Corina Machado, remains sidelined, there is all the more reason. But that alone does not fix the system; once an agreement on guarantees, freedoms, and institutional restructuring is reached to allow a new electoral process, we will be talking about another stage—the delicate process of Venezuela’s redemocratization.

Moving on to the US and the difference between what Marco Rubio says, for example, and what Machado says. I believe the US approach, at least initially, was to seek a more gradual path. Machado rejects gradualism, connecting with majorities desperate for improvements in their day-to-day lives. Do you view gradualism as desirable in this case, or does it bring risks?

Right now, it is not a matter of desirable or undesirable. It must be viewed carefully. What does gradualism mean in this context? If it means the indefinite postponement of elections, then I agree there should be no gradualism. Elections must happen sooner rather than later. Now, must other things happen before elections? Of course. Certain decisions are necessary. For many Venezuelans, the existing electoral institution is neither trustworthy nor advantageous; going to an election feels risky—not so much because of the voting machines or the system itself, but because of the allocation rules, which heavily favor the plurality or the majority.

“If you keep the current allocation system, there will be such complete steamrolling that a significant yet minority sector will find itself far more diminished than political reality dictates.”

They are rules of steamrolling. If you have a 5-4 distribution, the practical result becomes 6-3; if you have a 3-1, it becomes 4 or 4.5 to 1. That poses a problem because we are in a process that did not open through social pressure overthrowing the system. The system is still there, and its existence must be dealt with. Today, the system is making concessions that, propaganda aside, respond to external pressure. Saying that nothing will change and that all this is meaningless is a different matter. If, instead, gradualism means taking the necessary steps to promote those elections so the outcome is recognized and governance is secure, then it is logical. These processes tend to be gradual when they happen.

What should come first: presidential elections, legislative elections, or both at once?

The broader the possibility for popular expression, the better. It is convenient for a new government, of any political line, to have significant parliamentary support. In my view, general elections—or at least national general elections covering national jurisdiction, including overseas voting—are advisable. This would generate two branches of power: the Legislative and the Executive. If we maintain the proportions that society currently suggests, it would likely be a moment of overwhelming majority for one sector over another. Politically, that is not necessarily desirable. What do I mean? For the stability of the present and future process, there needs to be a form of representation closer to the national mindset. Today, the PSUV represents a significant minority, but a smaller one than in other historical moments. We will see how that translates in an environment of freedom, without infringement, and without pressure from the bureaucracy or the State as an employer. Perhaps the result could be different for chavismo now. But relying on polls that indicate a four-to-one or three-to-one gap, if you keep the current allocation system, there will be such complete steamrolling that a significant yet minority sector will find itself far more diminished than political reality dictates.

“It is likely that chavismo as an entity will take various forms and fragment. Is it convenient for it to disappear? I think doing so artificially is dangerous.”

That is not necessarily a good start. Democratic zeal and sectarianism in other transitions have weakened a democracy’s ability to respond and advance—which is ultimately what all democratic sectors want. I prefer a solid democracy with a significant, albeit limited, representation of chavismo over the alternative, simply because of what they represent in political life. Furthermore, remember: they could not be extracted—or rather, removed—from power as a structure. That carries weight. Does that mean I wish for an authoritarian leftist force like chavismo turned out to be at the height of its power? No. I believe there should be a force representing the political identity that chavismo is—as a cultural, political, and ideological identity that existed before fading due to its own dynamics. Who holds the broad banner of chavismo today? I do not know. The ones in Miraflores? I don’t know if they are indisputable figures within that movement, or if the discontent and dismay throughout this period generate fragmentation.

As happened in other transition experiences, the government party sometimes splits once it opens up, gets overtaken, and the opposition takes power. It is probable that chavismo as an entity will take various forms and fragment. Is it convenient for it to disappear? I think doing so artificially is dangerous. From 1945 to 1948, the majority force believed no other party was democratic. That gave us 10 years of harsh dictatorship. I prefer to see chavismo divide around democracy: some supporting the transition and others supporting an authoritarian or violent return to power, allowing us to face them within that framework.

A few years ago, there was much talk about the decline of Venezuelan opposition parties, even the idea that these parties are dead. A set of parties, to an extent heirs to the old two-party system, retain certain references and machinery. What are the challenges for these parties moving forward, beyond the known consequences of prolonged repression and State harassment? Can they grow stronger?

The dynamics will emerge naturally. Obviously, parties retain elements of historical legitimacy, identity, and roots, but a sifting process toward other options is very likely. My desire, of course, is for a party bloc to form around democracy. But then we face the issue of the primus inter pares. María Corina Machado is the leader and the most popular political figure in Venezuela’s recent history—the most individually popular since the death of Chávez. She holds a massive advantage, though that isn’t necessarily true for her party, Vente Venezuela. I don’t mean to diminish Vente’s value. That is why a bloc, agreements, and that collective notion are more suitable. Some argue this spirit broke after the start of negotiations, that the spirit of Panama was lost. I see it more as a pivot toward the direction Panama points. It is not the form the Panama Agreement indicated, but it aligns with the expectations it set. These are not completely unfamiliar actors; an abnormal arrangement is not being forced upon Venezuelan society.

Now, should the parties emerge? That will happen in due time. It took time for the Spanish Right to consolidate after Adolfo Suárez’s UCD and the dissolution of Francoist parties. Those fell into oblivion and later merged into a party representing that world sociologically, which became the People’s Party (PP). In the case of the Spanish Left, the multitude of cacophonous acronyms from the Spanish Civil War and exile sifted into the PSOE, which had the advantage of being a historic party. It didn’t acquire a new personality, but it began gathering people from other parties, both left-liberals and more heterodox leftists. Here, it could very well settle into one, two, or three major parties forming a bloc. What is the concrete difference between Voluntad Popular, Un Nuevo Tiempo, and Acción Democrática in ideological terms? Or between the other Democratic Unity parties and Vente Venezuela? “Oh, Vente is liberal-capitalist and the others are not.” Are the others not pro-market? Let’s be clear, they have been for a long time. It’s not that they are neoliberal, but they aren’t socialist in the sense of nationalizing the means of production. We should keep that in mind.

Regarding the Venezuelan Left, Chávez was the first major charismatic figure linked to that world who swallowed all leftist parties. That is the essence of PSUV. The Democratic Unity Roundtable (MUD) and the Unitary Platform positioned themselves as its antithesis: “What unites all of us who hold these ideological differences? The desire for democracy.” What might happen is that a single party—new or distinct—swallows the archipelago of parties that emerged under this system. But it is very probable, as seen in other processes, that a different party system will emerge. What is desirable? That they be democratic parties. What is desirable? That extremist parties, meaning those that do not believe in elections or democracy, can operate legitimately. That would be a danger to them. In its 20-year history, PSUV has opposed pluralism and free, competitive elections; that is how it operated from power. Could it act differently from another perspective? It might, as happened with other parties in different transitions. The PP is an example.

Returning to María Corina, who will likely be a central figure in the upcoming period, I wanted to discuss Rómulo Betancourt, the most prominent figure of our former transition. She once admitted he’s the best president Venezuela ever had. Betancourt both excelled at building consensus during that era and was firm in protecting his State project from extremes. Is he a useful reference point now? What lessons does Betancourt offer María Corina, and what are not lessons?

An important lesson is that he spoke with people who had sent him into exile and prison, admitting them into the new status quo. The only person directly excluded from the system was Pérez Jiménez. Of course, those individuals had also been victimized by the dictatorship, enabling new understandings. With others, Betancourt had built a wall of fire. But in general, he skillfully won over the military and business sectors—building bridges he failed to establish during his first presidency, a lesson in how radicalism can fail. I believe that is a crucial example. Acción Democrática held massive majorities, yet could not sustain its first mandate. In his second term, Betancourt did not take power with an extraordinary majority, yet he gathered more allies. Are the allies of the Unitary Platform enough to support such an administration? If tomorrow there is a National Assembly with an overwhelming majority from a pro-Machado party—whether Vente or another—and the minority or that sector is steamrolled, you will have fewer allies to govern under very difficult circumstances. You may have a non-governing minority, yes, but you will face more discontented voices outside. In that scenario, you should be striving to reconcile.

“What concerns me is that a government led by María Corina—one desired by millions of Venezuelans, including myself—could become unstable because we tried to do too much too soon.”

Of course, there is the idea that reconciliation should be with the masses rather than the elites. Fantastic—I believe that is a genuine aspiration. But one must also consider that part of these sectors belong to those parties. How do the thousands of party militants who helped execute the 2023 primaries or the 2024 voting tally collection feel? Discontent may be brewing there, which does not serve us well. Naturally, demanding total calm and moderation from María Corina—asking her to step away from her historic trajectory—is difficult. Her distrust is not entirely unfounded: major adversaries who have acknowledged her leadership in recent months and years have also acted against her. Perhaps that is why a more institutional coordination between the Unitary Platform and Vente—which I found desirable to allow greater cohesion—never materialized. That places a burden on the parties as well: how much can they demand when their representation is small?

How can an organized Venezuelan society exert influence over this juncture?

By trying to support the possibilities opening up in this scenario, even regarding the most politically committed sectors. The success of the process in Caracas depends largely on restoring, sooner rather than later, the freedoms that allow political dynamics to settle into something genuine and verifiable. It benefits Venezuelan society to lean in that direction. Society must also organize its own demands; democracy requires tolerance and pluralism, but it also requires contestation. There is significant leadership representing that, but society itself must reorganize because organization has been limited and stunted for years—with very few exceptions—by repression and constraints on civil society. Here, I would like to return to María Corina Machado.

Sure, go ahead.

I spoke of Betancourt and what that implies for her, including steadfast leadership. But there is also the need for flexibility toward the Armed Forces and awareness of that function’s demands. That said, María Corina Machado should not be afraid to be herself, to maintain her standard and vision. It has worked well for her so far, despite many problems, risks, and sacrifices. It would feel somewhat pretentious of me to tell her: “Look, María Corina, do this one way or another.” What concerns me is that a government led by her—one desired by millions of Venezuelans, including myself—could become unstable because we tried to do too much too soon.

In what areas do you see risks?

To me, the main risk is having powerful adversaries emboldened by instability and by the difficulty of building consensus around the tough decisions a new government will have to make—serious, ground-breaking decisions that will require broader support. Disregarding support and consensus as unnecessary could become a problem.

Are privatizations a concern for you, or perhaps the issue of justice?

I am concerned about the inability to make the most grave decisions. The privatization of PDVSA is largely advanced through the Hydrocarbons Law; we are heading toward a framework where PDVSA remains significantly reduced. The disarmament or political neutralization of the judiciary is already on the table, so they won’t need to drive that from scratch. But issues of redistribution, labor rights, and State restructuring—deeper discussions where initial instincts may not be fully adequate to foster understanding—could create serious challenges. I do not mean to minimize her support, but popular backing has often failed to prevent adversaries from becoming emboldened and supplanting democracy during historical transitions. And I do not want us to return to an authoritarian system.

Venezuela’s National Assembly approved, in its first reading on Thursday, August 27, the reform of Article 65 of the Organic Law of the Supreme Court of Justice. Why is a measure like this so important for Venezuela? Because it is the first institutional and legal step taken by the interim authorities that might lead to a genuine transitional process.

On August 12, the first agreement was signed between the delegation of the interim authorities and that of the National Assembly in 2015. But that is a political document, of which the reform of Article 65 of the Organic Law of the Supreme Court of Justice would be the first true institutional implementation, a first legal step in a process that is just beginning and that, eventually, could take us to a transition.

Article 65 of the current law regulates the composition of the Nominations Committee: the body that selects citizens nominated for judgeships, from which the National Assembly chooses the judges. Currently, the Nominations Committee has 21 members: 11 members of the National Assembly and 10 members of civil society. The reform (which must be approved in its second reading in the National Assembly and then become law) would increase the number of Committee members from 21 to 23, but the most significant aspect is that these two additional members would come from civil society.

According to the political agreement of August 12, the National Assembly must appoint all 32 Justices of the Supreme Court.

In short, the reform allows for greater citizen participation in the choosing of the 32 justices, just after the agreement reached on August 12 to completely renew the country’s highest court, a key component of chavista’s hold to power during the 21st century. This shift, along with the other aspects of the August 12 agreement, could generate confidence for prestigious university professors and lawyers to apply in the upcoming process to form the new Supreme Court of Justice.

This reform could be followed by another, also structural in nature, concerning the same Organic Law of the Supreme Court of Justice (LOTSJ) and other laws of the justice system, as announced at the end of the first round of talks between the delegations of the interim authorities and the National Assembly in 2015. Therefore, this first step could be very important for moving toward a political transition. 

Naturally, the question that arises from the previous experience of two decades of dialogue between Chavismo and the opposition is how to prevent the regime from controlling the Nominations Committee and ensure that it has a loyal majority among the 12 members of civil society that it would have if this reform is approved.

The answer is the same as it applies to this process: unlike all previous negotiations, here there is a third party that, rather than being a mediator, has the most influence—a Trump administration that theoretically benefits from a safer legal environment for foreign investment, and therefore has incentives to ensure that this reform truly becomes an opening that leads to the restoration, albeit gradual, of Venezuelan institutions.

After more than three years behind bars, José Ignacio Moreno Suárez said he walked out of El Rodeo I prison last Friday with nothing to his name. “I have no house. These are my clothes; this is what I have left after three years. They took everything from me, everything I have,” he told reporter Maryorin Méndez at the prison gates, gesturing at what he was wearing. Moreno Suárez, the legal representative in Venezuela for Canadian miner Gold Reserve, was arrested in June 2023 for defending the company’s international arbitration claim for over $1 billion in expropriated assets. He was freed in the first round of political prisoner releases since the beginning of the US-brokered talks between the Rodríguez government and the opposition. 

Although we know no further details about Moreno Suárez’s case, we do know that it is one of many cases of this kind of systematic punishment against political prisoners and dissident figures. While the Rodríguez-Figuera table gets to boast about the releases, the regime has yet to answer for the houses and personal property it raided or seized from dozens of political figures and their relatives. Among them is Dinorah Figuera herself, president of the Delegate Commission in the ongoing negotiations with chavismo. As they begin releasing prisoners and readmitting exiles to take part in the talks, the question remains about whether these negotiations will give any of the houses back.

Charity in a stolen home

In May, chavista officials gathered in Los Palos Grandes to inaugurate the Casa de los Abuelos y Abuelas Indio Chacao, a new branch of the Gran Misión Abuelas y Abuelos de la Patria program for the elderly. Footage of the opening (and backlash against it) spread quickly, as the building they chose was once the family home of Lilian Tintori and Leopoldo López, the exiled founder of Voluntad Popular and once-popular opposition leader.

Back in March, Tintori had reported that authorities took over the house, emptied it of their belongings and started demolishing parts of it. The raid happened after López said in an interview that he supported the US military operation that captured Maduro and Cilia Flores.

“They took my house from me for assuming the presidency of the 2015 National Assembly,” Dinorah Figuera said recently.

The day after the inauguration, López answered with a video walking through what was done to his house. “This is the house where my children grew up, where we hold the memory of our family, the photos, the sheets, the furniture, the toys. This is the house where I spent a year and a half under arrest,” he said. The video, originally posted on May 30 to Leopoldo López’s account in collaboration with Voluntad Popular, was deleted this week. Tintori had already reported, in March, that the home was looted and structurally damaged, with personal objects removed, interior walls knocked down, and even the family’s pets disappeared. 

López clarified that he was not against this kind of assistance program, as he inaugurated similar centers during his time as mayor of Chacao. He condemned, however, that Rodríguez’s administration is now presenting this action as an ‘act of justice’ when, in his view, it represents a message of intimidation. “Recovering democracy also means recovering every citizen’s right to live, work, and return home in freedom and safety”, López wrote in his post.

House by house

Magalli Meda, campaign chief for María Corina Machado, had her family home raided in May 2025, days after she escaped from the Argentine embassy where she sheltered for over a year. Agents returned in February 2026, tagging the property “secured” and “seized.” GNB agents had raided Meda’s mother’s apartment in May 2025, stealing her car in the process. Machado’s personal assistant, Laura Acosta, also saw her main residence taken by force in March 2025, and formally confiscated a year later.

Those close to Antonio Ledezma— the former Caracas metropolitan mayor— lost multiple properties. In 2023, the National Anti-Corruption Police of Venezuela (PNCC) raided the Santa Rosa de Lima apartment he shared with his wife Mitzy Capriles, where Ledezma had lived under house arrest from 2015 until 2017, when he escaped the country. Neighbors told Ledezma that hooded men with long guns forced the lock, entered, and carried off boxes of his belongings. They left a sign on the door that read clausurado, sealed. Ledezma’s father-in-law’s vacation home in Naiguatá had already been seized before then. His stepdaughter Isabel González Capriles and her husband, former Chávez minister Andrés Izarra, were forcibly removed from their Quinta Los Gnomos in Caraballeda in 2020 and given a 15-day notice to remove their belongings. Three years later, the head of the DGCIM, Iván Hernández Dala, celebrated his wedding at the confiscated property. 

Diego Arria, the former governor, minister and UN ambassador during the Carlos Andrés Pérez administrations, faced two expropriations back in 2010 under Chávez’s guerra al latifundio policies: his Hacienda La Carolina in Yaracuy and Finca Los Azahares in Carabobo. Julio Borges’s home was raided in 2018 over his alleged link to the drone attack on Maduro, which stripped him of parliamentary immunity. Bony Pertiñez, wife of the jailed police commissioner Iván Simonovis, lost her home in 2019 through a precautionary seizure issued by a terrorism court and executed by the SEBIN.

But confiscations and raids are not confined to the country’s household-name dissidents. 

Former presidential candidate Enrique Márquez described the same process: “The police arrested me leaving my house, took my keys, and went in. They took my computer and personal effects… They stole money, kitchen appliances, clothes, paintings. They left us bankrupt.” When approached for an update on the state of the stolen goods, Márquez told Caracas Chronicles those belongings were never returned. 

And then there’s Dinorah Figuera, the opposition’s co-chair at the current negotiating table. In January 2023, the DGCIM raided her home and that of Auristela Vásquez, second vice president of the 2015 National Assembly. “At this moment my home in Los Rosales, Caracas, is being raided. Regime security agents, continuing their strategy of State terrorism, are adding one more act to their long list of human rights violations”, she tweeted. In June, Figuera confirmed she returned to Venezuela “having been stripped of a home” in an interview with Luis Olavarrieta: “They took my house from me for assuming the presidency of the 2015 National Assembly,” she recalled when asked about those who consider her a divisive figure within the opposition.

But confiscations and raids are not confined to the country’s household-name dissidents. 

José Breijo was a Uruguayan-Venezuelan former hotel manager held in Tocuyito Prison for two years on a terrorism charge. His alleged crime was taking a picture of a flag in an office where he believed Islamist groups met. The detention drew little attention until this May: after being granted house arrest, a photo of Breijo lying on a mattress at the entrance of his home started circulating on social media. One of the officers who arrested him had moved a family in. “It’s a very common police practice,” Breijo said. “They pick you up on the street, ask you a lot of questions, and if they realize you live alone, they send you to prison and take your house.” Unable to occupy the house the court ordered him to remain in, he risked being sent back to prison for failing to comply. He slept in the hallway for three days until, after several human rights organizations and activists denounced the situation, State authorities opened the doors to his house and handed José the keys. He passed away this month in that same apartment, at 71.

Even some chavistas were stripped of their property once their loyalties faded. Raúl Baduel was the general behind Chávez’s return to power after the 2002 coup, and then became his Minister of Defence in 2006. After breaking with Chávez the following year over proposed constitutional reforms, he was arrested in 2009, convicted on corruption charges and stripped of all his material goods. Baduel insisted the charges were pushed as a tool for political persecution. More recently, Tareck El Aissami, Simón Zerpa, and Samark López were deprived of their property because of their involvement in the PDVSA-crypto case of 2023.

The laws laundering the theft

Article 116 of the Venezuelan Constitution forbids confiscation, permitting it only by final judicial sentence and against those convicted of crimes against public property or enrichment through illicit trafficking. Still, the State built itself loopholes by declaring statutes to route around that protection.

Officers invoked one of three laws for the seizures (at least, whenever a legal basis was provided at all). The Organized Crime and Terrorism Financing Law, passed under Chávez in 2012, is used to target exiles: Article 58 allows a court to move from “preventive seizure” to permanent forfeiture after a year if the owner is deemed to have “abandoned” the property. On the other hand, the 2024 Libertator Law “against the imperial blockade” explicitly authorizes the confiscation of assets as a criminal penalty against anyone who supports or requests international sanctions against Venezuela.

The 2023 Asset Forfeiture Law (Ley de Extinción de Dominio) was born out of Maduro’s anti-corruption purge of El Aissami. The chavista National Assembly issued it to “establish mechanisms to identify, locate, and recover assets tied to illicit activity.” The law was first applied in February 2025 against an alleged corruption network within PDVSA, when a single court gave roughly 400 assets belonging to more than 100 people over to the State. The 462-page ruling never established when the alleged crimes took place, and inverted the presumption of innocence by forcing the accused to prove their assets were clean.

The US-sponsored negotiations are advanced by an opposition cohort of mostly exiles who have been permitted to return to take part in the talks, premised on “reconciliation” and on “verifiable” steps toward a restored democracy. While Figuera can now re-enter the country whose legitimate Assembly she once led, the properties seized from her circle have not been restored.

Restitution is a direct measure of whether “reconciliation” means anything concrete or is simply another buzzword to back transactions that leave the regime’s loot intact. A transition pushed by the US to partially restore investor confidence cannot leave the confiscations unaddressed. Doing so would ratify the theft and reward those behind the seizures with fresh capital. If the Trump administration intends to sell this process as a genuine opening, it must be prepared to say whether the property the regime took will be given back.